Battlefeilds of Killzone: The Hunted
by Anima Raptor
Summary: Taking place not long after The First Invasion, A small squad of ISA soilders are pursued by a platoon of Helgast. In progress, and each chapter is told through a different perspective. Chapter 3 Just Updated!
1. Chapter 1

Battlefields of Killzone

The Hunted

Ch.1 Tracking the Nuisance

As told by Private Hans Gabiavo, Gunner 2nd Class

Even via their atmospheric masks, their oddly civilized alien ascent roared through the auto cannon's gunfire.

"God damn it Lucas! I told you I'm low on ammunition! Reload that belt feed!"

"I'm going as fast as I can! You try to do this without your gloves on! It's bloody hot!"

It was the first time the inferiors had pulled one over us. The mighty Helgan Empire, the Masters of the Blitzkrieg, and the Fist of Scolar Visari, had fallen prey to the first casualty. May I avenge my comrade's soul tenfold for his curiosity; a single ISA rat had been hiding under the bridge we were crossing a moment ago. I can only imagine he had heard it's scuttling, for when he looked over the edge, gun up and eyes opened like he was trained to do, a silenced round exited from his helm. I saw his body fall over the low railing, the spray of his gray matter pattering against another's armor. Everyone backed away from the scene in question, while I readied myself in my turret. It wouldn't have been the first time I had reacted to a possible threat, pulling back the firing lever between the barrels of the Mark IV ROC Weapon, it's reassuring 'Kerr-CHECK' of the chamber loading one of hundreds of .50 caliber rounds, and tightening my harness. Oblivious to the outside world, Private Lucas was laying idle across the APC's metal benches, only half of his tactical gear on his person. Just before the urge of kicking him in his cranium had taken effect, Elite Commandant Trevino's voice crackled over my headset.

"Attention all units! Man down! Man down! Prepare for possible engagement!"

His body jolted upwards, turning his head towards me with glowing eyes, "What the hell's going on?"

"Someone just got killed, you lazy ass. Get over here and prepare!"

Trevino's voice caught my attention again, "Squad A and B hold your position. Squad C, move to the rear and investigate the underside of the bride. Sniper units priority. I want nothing to survive beneath us!"

Not a moment after saying this, shots began to ring out. I had turned the turret to my left, from which the original source of disorder had started, and was surprised to see muzzle flashes from directly before of me in the terrain ahead.

"Engagement confirmed! All units advance and fire at will! Kill those human insects!"

Now, as I space my bursts of fire, I lay cover for my brethren, sighting at least 2 weakly camouflaged scum fall beneath my anguish.

"Well, get your damn gloves on and load the blasted belt! I'm risking my helm for your stupidity!"

"If you want the blasted belt so bad, you get your padded arse down from there and put it on yourself!"

"Fine! Take my position!" Reluctantly, I unlash myself from my belt harness and climb down. As Lucas replaces me, clumsily resting his weight on my shoulder and clipping himself in, I reach down to retrieve the ammunition belt. Due to the heat generated by the auto cannon's firing, the belt feeding system tends to heat up quickly, hence the former operator's difficulty. Even with my thick ploy-fiber gloves, the entering end of the belt feed stings my hands. Once the heavy system clips into the weapon's chamber, I pat Lucas on his flank.

"Pull the firing lever in the center on the weapon. That will load it, and then pull the triggers simultaneously to fire. Aim strait, and for God's sakes don't shoot one of us!"

"I know, I know. Just let me kill someone!"

_Fool… I don't know how he made it though academy… _

As the auto-cannon erupts into life once more, I make my way to the weapons rack, remove my HG-CQ Assault Rifle from it's space, load my vest with it's drum magazines, and click off the safety.

"Lucas, I'm going out. Cover my positions along the way, understood?"

"Yes, sir. Bring back a souvenir while you're at it?"

My patience thins, "Bloody fool…" Leaning near the rear hatch, I smack the hatch release with an open palm, the door heavily falling to the weathered concrete below. From the darkness of the interior of the APC, the pale sky of this so called 'autumn' welcomes my dark stature; a rather worn looking bridge extends away from me, roughly eighty meters down. My vehicle 2nd in line, the rest of the convoy lies before me, two more APC's and a Wolf Spider Tank guarding our rear. The Carrier's guns in the rear are blocked by the other remaining APC and another Wolf Spider in the front lines, but the number and dominance of our comrades and firepower should easily clean up this mess.

Shouldering my weapon, I close my eyes for a moment, visualizing my targets.

"Obstacles of Scolar Visari's visions… that's all humans will be. Helgan has bred us to concur them… Visari has gathered us… and now I will aid my comrades to victory!"

With a deep breath, my eyes snap open and my mind shifts to flight or fight. My body turns itself round the edge of my vehicle, my rifle raised my line of sight clear. My legs bring me into a sprint, tunnel vision ensuing and my hearing becoming a bit clearer. I spot a flash of fire in the distance, my mind registering it's first target and my trigger finger squeezing.

"Die! You filthy human…"

BANG! BOOM BOOM BOOM!!!

A heavy tremor knocks me off of my feet, the four explosions making themselves known from the rear. Straining to regain my footing, I retrieve my dropped weapon, "Bloody Hell! What was…"

CRACKLE…

No more than 3 meters away, the bridge begins to splinter and crack.

"No… the bridge! Get the hell off the bridge!!"

CRUNCHCRAKLECRUNCH!

Just as my comrades realize what peril their lives had just fallen into, a 30 meter section of the bridge shifts two feet downward.

"COME ON, DAMN IT! GET OOOOFF!!!"

I sling my rifle over a shoulder and begin to run towards the ever-developing fissure. One of the turret gunners of an APC manages to climb out, another screaming at his jammed harness. As the gunner and another comrade make their way towards me, the bridge shifts another handful of centimeters, possibly its last shift of the now fated structure.

CRRRRRRUNCH…

As those two leap toward me, the bridge finally gives way, the road disappearing from sight. Both of them collide with the edge of the road, their arms grasping for a handhold. My now adrenaline soaked body reaches for the soldier to my right, hands grasping his thick, padded shoulders. "I've got you man! I've got you! Pull! Get up!"

As he struggles to save himself, my comrade on the left begins to slip.

"Help! Damn it I'll fall!"

"Hold on I said! Hold on!"

I heave the man in my arms as best as I can, pulling him by his gear straps and getting him to his waist.

"I said I'm FALLING!"

"I SAID I'm COMING! HOLD ON!"

"RaaaAAAAHHH!"

A piece of concrete falls from one of his hands, my brother hanging by the other.

"No no no NO NO!"

Just as I reach for him…

The rest of the concrete breaks away.

"NOOOOOooooooo…"

My body collapses, my hand still grasping for his life. My eyes follow him on his way to his demise, the lost portion of the bridge smashing into the ground at least 50 meters down. The APC's and tank followed a split second afterwards, its own weight crinkling and exploding into plumes of debris. I did not see where my lost comrade fell… he disappeared into the flames.

Time has seemed to stop at this moment…

The image of my comrade falling… imaging his defeated expression behind his mask… seeing and almost feeling his anger towards his unjustly fate…

An unjust fate…

He had not the chance to experience a worthy death, shot down until he could not fire back… the only way to die honorably…

And somehow, his anguish channeled to me from the smoke below, his energy seemingly charging my blood, my breath doubling in volume and my fingers gripping the crumbled stone beneath me. I begin to rise, my grip shifting from the edge to the sling of my weapon, taking it in one hand.

Beside me, my saved brother rolls to his back and props himself up.

"Thank you, sir…"

"I ask not that you thank me, but to instead except that your fate did not end here. Honor those who just fell now by completing their kill count. Have you your weapon?"

"No sir, it is lost."

As he stands up, I push my rifle to his chest.

"Take this then."

Reaching to my thigh, I pull upon a strap to draw my service pistol.

"But sir, what about…"

"No buts! Now come on! AVENGE THEM!"

Within one deep breath, my boots begin to pound beneath me, my vision tunneling and my destination vengeance. As I run, I vaguely notice my APC, Lucas spraying fire wildly.

"You filthy animals! You freaking, filthy animals! You'll pay!! YOU"LL PAY!!!"

The next event along my sprint was of Elite Trevino's laying more cover fire, his body leaning over one edges of his tank, a corpse of one of our own beneath his Squad Automatic Weapon as a support.

Ahead, the terrain changes from worn asphalt to beige dust, the bridge fading to the beginnings of a wide plain. Boulders, mounds of dirt, and other debris littered the edge of road, flashes of automatic weapons firing from over or between the cover. As I charge headlong, my pistol kicks rapidly. Its discharges only slightly calm my raging mind, the possibility of my lead entering my enemies flesh my only hope to satisfaction. Death and bloodlust becomes me as my free hand reaches for a grenade, my thumb flicking the pin free, and hurling the weighted explosive towards a group of muzzles. As it sails behind the rocks, curses and exclamations proceed; one ISA scrambles over the rocks to become ripped apart in our fire, the other's blood splattering along the boulders as the grenade detonates.

"Take that you primitive… UUFFFF!!!"

A driving force contacts my side, the force spinning my body round as I fall. My weight unforgivingly connecting with the ground, my breath escapes me.

"Ah… shit…"

Realizing my life had not ended yet, my hands search my tender side, returning with no blood. As I reach again in disbelief, I feel a hole in the material of my vest, pulling out a mangled spare magazine for my pistol.

"Whew…"

I rollover to my belly, realizing I had also fortunately fallen behind a crumbling stone formation. Retrieving my pistol from the side, I drag my torso against the low wall for a moment. Just as I take no more than two breaths;

"Sir! Are you hurt?!"

A comrade crashes beside me, his back to the wall and his orange goggles fixed to mine.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

"Returning the favor!"

Kneeling up, the man I saved begins to fire, his posture correct and his firing in bursts, picking his targets. A hail of return fire ricochets across the rock, my comrade ducking just in time.

"Good show, man! And damn it don't worry about me! Cover my 3 o'clock while I take your 9."

"On the contrary, sir!"

My gaze follows his jabbing finger; a dark silhouette catches my eye. Parallel with the wall I had fallen to, a gaunt figure crawls out from underneath the bridge. Upon closer inspection, the figure is outfitted in black attire and gear, yet it moved with a certain sluggishness; its left arm drooped idly as the rest of the body leaned against cover.

"That's not one of ours, is it sir?"

A second glance its clothing, green goggles instead of orange, the answer became clear.

"No, that's an ISA assassin!" That's the man who destroyed the bridge!!"

"That Bastard! KIIIIIIILL HIM!!!"

As if we had previously rehearsed, my comrade and I raise our weapons in unison and fire. Divits of sand kick about him, our initial shots making contact as it ducked its body behind cover. Irony ensues, for when my emptied weapon responds with a dull 'click', the rifle beside me also ceases.

"Reloading!"

Why the hell were we trained to announce to the whole damned battle… 

"HAAARHGargle…"

I turn and face the odd noise, blood pulsing from both the entry and exit wounds of my comrade's throat. As his falling body brushes against mine, my gaze traces back to the assassin's position, it's weapon outstretched in one hand towards me.

I didn't even hear the shot, and just like that, my partner's life empties over my feet.

"Damn… you… RAAAAH!"

In a blur I reach for my original weapon, close the rifle's reloading latch, and pull the firing lever. I do not even hesitate to pull the trigger before my goggles level with my point sight, the butt stock pounding my shoulder like a piston. The assassin leaps over the low wall and begins to sprint towards its allies, the weapon suddenly spewing rounds in rapid succession towards me.

"Oh, no you don't!"

My finger releases for a moment, my pupils focusing on the dark blotch in my sights. My brain tells my arms to lead my target by a few decimeters, the assassin struggling to scurry up a high dirt mound.

"You're MINE!"

Just as the dark enemy reaches the top, my finger clutches the trigger. The rifle responds thrice; crimson liquids splash from the targets shoulder. In an almost graceful manner, it spins round, then falls over the edge.

For only a moment I feel a wave of satisfaction, but it slips away as I realize that he had not died instantly. My temper flaring, I reach for my last grenade, arm it, and wildly hurl it in the direction of my frustrations. It clears the mound, pauses, and then explodes.

I cannot tell if I heard a death cry. A string of fire from a set of auto-cannons dampened the noise.

"I hope your death to be intensely slow…"

I reach down to retrieve my pistol, but notice a change in atmosphere; no longer do I hear ISA fire. I peak over the thick stone, and to my surprise, see no more targets.

"They're retreating… we have them on the run! Come on!" I take a motion to pursue, but am interrupted by Trevino's voice.

"All units stand down. I repeat, cease-fire. Regroup and hold positions."

"What!?"

Rising from my position, I begin to stomp back to my commander. Trevino pushes aside his improvised sandbag, leans his machine gun over a shoulder and faces me.

"You heard me, regroup and hold."

"That's bull crap! Did you just see what happened? We just lost half of our unit! We have to finish them off!"

"Did _you_ just see what happened?! THEY just caused the loss of half of our unit. We need to stand down until reinforcements come. Then we continue."

My blood boiling, I step inches away from his chest, "And let them escape! What kind of bloody order is that?!"

He matches my step, the only thing separating our faces were his armor and mine, "It's the commands I was given! I have specific orders for our unit to pursue the ISA squad, but only to engage when necessary! We wait for reinforcements! Period! Now get back to ranks!"

"Tell that to those who just fell…"

Despite the rising urge to raise my weapon to him, I stifle my rage, but manage to at least voice my mind. Roughly throwing my rifle sling over a shoulder, I begin my way back to my vehicle.

_Why the hell would we only pursue, but only to observe? Since when was this unit changed form a Shock Troop to a Recon unit? What the hell makes these ISA rodents so important that we cannot destroy them now? _

These thoughts plagued my mind on the short walk back to my APC. One thought screams the loudest, however.

When can I avenge my brothers… 

"Well, well, you're not dead! That's good to know."

Lucas leans an elbow over his turret mount, facing me.

"Shut up, you fool…"

"So, you want to come back up here?"

"No… stay up there if you prefer. I need some peace."

"Good! Because I wasn't going to let you, otherwise. I do favor this to the hard benches down below."

My fading adrenaline, mixed with agitation and annoyance, causes my body to numb slightly. Wishing not to deal with Lucas, I merely lean against the side of my armored transport and breathe. Flashes of memory flicker within my goggles, the ghosts of each brother I witnessed die questioning the timing of my own fate. The curious soldier, the trapped gunner, the fallen brother and my comrade who was assassinated…

Their memories will empower me in my next battle, and will destroy those who oppose us. That is my promise to my comrades, Scolar Visari, and my home.

Vengeance will strengthen me, Visari will guide me, and only fate can stop me. That is the Helgan way.


	2. Chapter 2

Battlefields of Killzone

The Hunted

Ch.2 Red October

As told by Lt. Robert "Rapta" Hernandez

It's been six days since we last saw them. Six days of having our backs turned, our tails between our legs. Six days of climbing, scaling, and scraping our knees against dark colored rocks and rough ice. I know the ISA firebase is on the other side of this mountain. I know that our platoon wants to make it back in one piece. I know that we're almost there…

But honestly, I'm tired. I'm tired of running. I'm tired of climbing. And if I had the chance? Hell, I would break ranks and fight these freaks myself. But, I have men to look after, men who will follow me and trust me… and if they want to get home safe, it's my job to get them there.

Three days ago was a close call for all of us. We had been pursued by the enemy for the past week before, and slowly, they were catching up to us. As we had crossed Gavon Bridge, a two lane concrete road that spanned a small gorge, my Specialist, Luger, suggested that she take the bridge out. A well-trained Shadow Marshal, she was among one of the four soldiers to take out the SD Platforms during the first invasion, and was considered a hero. It was an honor to have her as part of my team, so I took to her advise. What she didn't tell me, though, was that she was going to wait for the enemy to begin to cross, then detonate the charges, hoping to remove a large portion of the force. Well, when I realized that my entire platoon had left without her, I ordered them to double back. We got there just as the enemy started to cross the bridge, and Luger got caught in the crossfire. We were able to retreat, and she did manage to destroy the bridge, along with two APC's and a tank, but we suffered seven casualties and Luger took three rounds in the shoulder blade, along with a nasty graze along her left arm. She's tough, though; she'll make it.

Off to my right, the sun is going down. Considering that we are halfway up the mountain, and roughly 7,000 feet above sea level, the sun takes about another half hour for it to set. But at this time, on a clear, October evening such as this, everything… absolutely everything turns red. The sky, the mountain, the wide plains below, everything ranging from the dark crimson of the rocks, to the frosty pink of snow at this height. Unfortunately, my squad's tactical gear doesn't blend in too well. Woodland camouflage isn't the best solution to mountainous combat, and the unforgivingly pale snow seems to deepen by a few more inches every night. We're going to have to be careful.

About 15 minutes before, I saw that my team needed a rest. I split my men into two groups; one who would travel a bit ahead and rest, and those who still had enough energy in them hold their positions and set up a defensive line. I stopped my half of the platoon around a wide crevasse in the mountain, and positioned them into a "Deadly Moon" formation. The riflemen made an inner-curving frontline, the heavy infantry and support gunners made a similar line behind them, and two snipers would stay in front, at opposite ends of the crevasse, creating a crescent shape. I am holding the left point, perched atop a tall boulder.

I can see the other sniper, Private Adam Hans, also squatting atop a tall rock; the silhouette of his hunched body, the long barrel of his ISA anti-material weapon breaking the symmetry. It was a good weapon; great range, good accuracy, and the power to punch though tempered steel. Problem was, ammo was rare, it weighed a ton, and the oversized munitions clip only held four rounds. It's mainly good for taking out small vehicles or Elite troops.

Me? Well, despite some questioning looks from most of my squad, I tend to favor our enemy's sniper rifle, the HG-6. It's simple, lightweight, far more accurate than Adam's, and carries six rounds in it's drum magazine. That, and considering it's a weapon made by the enemy, the ammo it plentiful. Besides, it's much more rewarding to pick up the ammo from the corpse of an enemy sniper, especially when you were the one that out gunned him with his own weapon. It's an encouraging feeling, knowing that you survived because you were a better soldier, not because his gun was better. Good soldiers are made, not mass-produced.

I shift my weight around, trying to get the circulation back in my legs, and tuck my chin beneath my combat vest as best as I can. I've never really minded the cold, much. It was only a few years ago when I could walk my dog around my neighborhood in forty-degree weather with only my pajamas. But, when there's a wind chill factor of ten degrees, it's been twenty-four hours since your last meal, and you're recovering from a shrapnel wound, your blood seems to thin.

1 mile down, I can see a ring of armored vehicles just off of a worn-out road. Thick, ash gray tents dotted the makeshift camp, and a hover tank, with it's four, leg-like tread supports, lower themselves to the ground. Portable food burners, using a gas native to their planet, burn green dots in the distance, and the shadows cast from the troops black attire almost seem to blend in within the dimmed out plains.

Out of curiosity, I shoulder my rifle against my left side and peer down my 20 x 140 powered scope. I take the time to adjust the elevation, the windage, and the sensitivity of the photoreceptors. My eyes adjust to the orange glow of the scope; something the enemy is especially fond of.

I bring my sight over the camp, the entire platoon covering only a small portion of my crosshairs. My index finger presses a toggle switch over the trigger, and the scope starts to zoom in. All I hear is the whistle of the mountain wind, and the whir of tiny motors as my vision magnifies twice, by five, ten, all the way up to twenty times normal sight. I breathe deeply, hold my breath, and try my best to steady myself as I try to observe the enemies movements.

Through the orange hue, I see them, dozens of them, milling about; some seeming to bark orders in that hellish, European accent, some cleaning their weapons, and some removing their facemasks and World War II styled helmets to eat their rations. I scan across, trying to figure our odds if they were to plan an attack

As I scout, my eye catches one particular soldier. He's halfway out of one of the armored personnel carriers, his torso behind a mounted machine gun turret. I've seen those things in action before; with its dual-auto cannons, high rate of fire, and insane accuracy, it's not something you want to face without a guided missile.

Anyway, I can see him within the gun mount, leaning back, his hands resting behind his head.

_Bastard, relaxing like that when we're up here freezing our asses off. I bet it feels good being able to sit down on a shock absorbent sling rest, you in your warm little tank…_

I can feel my heart beat faster and my blood pressure rise. I know I'm pissed; my scope is shaking. I take a deep breath and try to calm down. My hand tightens the fore grip of the rifle, then relaxes. My aim steadies.

_If only I could get one good shot… _

My headset crackles, then clicks, "Hey Rapta?"

That's my nickname. Besides being squad leader and a sniper, I've been known to use my switchblade a lot in combat. There have been times where buddies have made fun of me for pulling out the six-inch pushbutton blade to sharpen it; there have also been times where respect is gained when I show them the stained blood that I file off of it.

"Yeah? What's up, Private?"

Adam is a big guy with long, shaggy brown hair, big arms, and a pretty good shot. He handles that cannon of his like it was a BB rifle, and he's also a good radio operator. He's been in my platoon for a few months now, and we've become friends.

"Whatcha lookin' at? That base camp?"

"Yeah, I've got a pretty good bead on it. Why?"

"I'm having trouble seeing now. That scope ya got is a lot better than mine, with it's light sensitivity and stuff…"

"Yeah… just lookin' down at that bum in the APC, chillin' out while they've been running us down. Shame that those vehicles made it through the blast on the bridge…"

"Uh huh…" Adam drifts off. There is a moment of silence before his voice crackles through my headpiece again. "Hey! I bet you fifty credits that you can't take his head off."

I scoff to myself, "No thanks. Too far away… besides, I don't really want to give away our positions this late in the day. The boys have been asleep for only an hour or two."

"Aw, come on, man! You got the best shot in this whole damn platoon up here! Besides, I'll give you two of my rations if it's a head shot!"

I think about my men, then I think about the score I would like to settle with these bastards.

"Okay then, but only on two conditions."

"What's that?"

"One, they're not any of those Mexican flavored MRE's. Two, you start calling me Sir like you're supposed to!"

"No problem!"

"Say that again, soldier?"

"Ha ha… no problem, sir!"

As I ready myself, I could see the silhouette of my buddy sniper shift, the barrel of his rifle rise.

"Heh heh, I don't wanna miss this! I gotta make sure that you're not lying to me, eh?"

A smirk tugs at my face. Now I really want to kill that glowy-eyed son-of-a-bitch. _I can't be the best shot on an empty stomach now, can I?_

I lower myself a bit, sitting down on a folded leg, wrap my right arm across my right knee, and rest my rifle between the fold of my elbow.

_Okay, Rapta, you can do this. Give your team one less freak to worry about…_

I line my eye with my scope once again and search for my target. After a moment, I find him, still in the gun turret. He has no idea that a mile away, a fairly large, pointy bullet has his name on it.

As I start to control my breathing and tighten my grip, I notice the soldier starting to shift. He lowers his arms to cross them across his chest, and turns his body a little, the turret lazily following his body's movements. He nods his head to the right, then to the left, as if cracking his neck, then…

…turns his head right in my direction.

My breath gets caught midway as I see his beady, round orange eyes seemingly look strait into mine.

_No way… it can't be. He can't be looking at me right now… it's impossible. It has to be coincidence or something… he must just be looking at the mountain, not me. He's just looking in one general direction, right?_

My headset hisses, "Whoa… you see that? Kinda creepy, huh? He's looking right at us, right?"

"I dunno… but he won't be looking for long…"

I do my best to focus, trying to keep the crosshairs on my target.

_Damn it… target's so far away… I just can't keep the sight from shaking…I might even give away our position… I don't even know if I should…_

What I see next makes my blood freeze.

Right now, the soldier has rose his fist in front of him, and with a thick, gloved finger, flips me the bird.

_He's flipping me off… he's flipping me off! How the hell is he…_

_Wait, he's not just giving me the bird, he's giving my whole team the bird. He knows that we've been running from them. He knows that they have been chasing us down, one of the few remaining ISA platoons left on this country. He knows that within a course of a day or two, they could catch up to us and stop us from clearing the mountain. A few dropships, a squadron of jetbikes or even a guided missile strike could do us in. And now, just like saying that it's not even worth his time…_

_He's telling us to "F" off. _

"Dude… Rapta… you see that?"

"Yeah… I see that…"

_You know what? Screw this._

My grip tightens.

_Screw your army…_

My aim steadies.

_Screw this war…_

My trigger finger tightens.

_And most importantly…_

I squeeze, my focus on the soldier's hand.

"Screw you!"

**BANG! **

My weapon kicks hard into my shoulder, the force shifting me back slightly, my vision blurred. The echo of the rifle, and the sound of a six inch, fifty caliber shell fall to the ground is all I hear. For a second, I try to refocus, checking my target.

The black soldier's hand is now missing, a deep shade of orange blood spurting through it's stump, and one of it's glowing eyes no longer part of it's head. The dismembered stump drops, and the body falls back, limp.

_I got him._

"H… holy… holy shit, sir!"

_I got the bastard._

_Take that._

"Hey, Adam?"

"Y… yes, sir?"

"If a kill is fifty credits, and a head shot is that plus two rations, then how much will you offer for an F.U. finger shot, huh?"

"…um… hell, how 'bout my grenades!"

"Heh heh, don't worry about it. Ready to take a break?"

"Damn strait, sir."

Satisfied, I lower my weapon.

"Fine, round up the troops and switch them out for the men resting right now. Go ahead and get Luger to take your position. Give her your gun; she's as good as you are. Tell her and the new squad to indicate me _immediately_ if they see any sign of enemy activity. If they do, we move out. And, Adam?"

"Yes, sir?" His voice still with a bit of disbelief.

"You go get some rest, okay?"

"Absolutely, sir!"

I look through my scope one last time. I zoom out a bit to see troops scrambling about, trying to make heads or tails of where the shot came from. I even see one soldier on top of the APC, staring at the corpse of the once alive turret gunner. He picks up what seems to be the rest of the soldier's middle finger.

I lower my rifle again, and rub my eyes.

_Well, odds are it will take a few minutes for them to figure out what happened, a few more to figure out what to do. Whether or not they will move out? I'm not sure. And quite frankly, I don't give a damn. If they do start moving, the armor can't get up here, and we already have a day or two head start as it is. As long as we stay up here we will have the upper hand. We have the defense, the range, and the elevation. I'd like to see them try to attack us up here in the mountains… our mountains…_

_Despite our fatigue and numbers, we would still kick their asses… _

_And if they don't move? Then better for us. We can figure out how long it will take to get to the firebase tomorrow…_

_As for now?_

_I could use a nap…_


	3. Chapter 3

Battlefields of Killzone

The Hunted

Ch.3 Some Catching Up To Do

As told by Jei "Bloodchild" Malmstrom

"Damn it… I don't want to get up…"

Consciousness crawls into my mind slowly, sleepy eyes welcome to the darkness of my closed lids, and a soft body still cold and sore.

"Gah… I feel like a bloody mess…"

I leave my eyes closed as I let my brain awaken, letting my thoughts wander. It isn't often that I get the chance to daydream.

_Hmm…let's see… where would I rather be right now… home? Not really… I didn't have much to do there… Back on Helgan? Oh yes, and deal with the rest of the male population there as well… I'd rather go back to the orbital stations… At least I could keep myself busy there. There was always a good read in the Archives. _

_Yes, that's it… back in my room in the Outer Academy. Not many people bothered be there… I trained when I needed to, updated myself when this Army won a battle, and could read whenever I pleased. God, what I could do for a good book right now. War Drivers and Zealots never had anything new to say; it's always the same thing. 'Glory of Helgan' this, 'Visari is a living God' that…maybe an Earth writer has something new to sell… something not so…_

**THUD!**

My body instantly reacts,eyes snapping open, hand reaching for my rifle and pointing it in the direction of the possible threat; Fricarion's dark, tiger-stripped body leans near me, his body crouched low atop an icy boulder.

"Hello, love."

"By God…"

I lower the weapon, conveniently placing the end of the silenced sniper barrel near his crotch, "… What the hell was that for?"

"Well, I didn't feel like climbing down that last set of rocks, so I dropped in." Even with his mask, one could tell he was grinning spitefully. Damn him for always being so cheerful.

"Blimey fool…" I lower my rifle completely, placing it upright near me, "I do wish you weren't so chipper… it'd make it so much easier to hate you."

"Ah, well. Sorry for that."

As my higher ranking comrade slides down the boulder to sit near me, I finally realize the snow magnified brightness of this planet's morning sun; my goggles had turned off to save power, and I had to shade them with my hand to stop my delicate eyes from hurting. Closing them, I twist the power ring on; the goggles hum for a moment, then glow an orange hue. I open my eyes again, my pupils relaxing and my vision clearing.

With a deep, crisp breath of air, my mind fully awakens. My body still not wanting to move, I lean my head back and stare upwards. The sight of the mountain range behind me pulls my eyes back, dreading the thought of climbing it, loathing the chilly base we've had to trek through already.

"I _cannot_ believe we have to climb that…"

Fricarion pulls 'Herbert', his own highly modified HG-CQ, across his lap, "I can't believe that we still haven't gotten back with the rest of the platoon… how long has it been now?" He removes the drum magazine, ejects a round from the chamber, and begins to field strip it.

I pause to reflect, "About… five days now?"

"Yes… five days today, I believe…"

I remember him telling me about all the trouble he had went through for his habit to tinker. Without permission, he threaded the barrel for a silencer, added some extra support and padding in the butt stock, completely removed the flatchlette gun on the bottom, and replaced it with a stripped down laser designator. Before he was court-martialed for damaging Helgan property, his XO realized that he had created a perfect scouting weapon, and when fitted with sensors similar to the one worn with a standard laser designator into his uniform, made him a Shock Trooper, Sniper, and Precision Artillery Officer all in one. Not long after, he was relieved of the charges and promoted to Sergeant.

And like any other good Helgan soldier, he kept his weapon in working order. Yet, whenever he felt he were in an uncomfortable situation, whether on field, or in a social pinch, he distracted himself by breaking down his weapon. Oddly enough, e's done it at least twice a day in these past five days. It's a reliable trait I've noticed, considering how easily read a man could be, atmospheric mask or not.

"There you go again, fidgeting with that horribly named weapon of yours…"

"Say what you wish, love. He's hasn't failed me yet."

Opening up a pouch, he pulls out a cleaning kit, lays it neatly across the ground, and begins to brush his weapon methodically. I can't help but to watch him…

I've been lucky. Fricarion is the closest thing to a friend that I've had within these past few years. All the training, the experiments, all the ridicule and discrimination… he's been one of the few who doesn't really care who I am. It's strange really, how even from the beginning, he didn't mind working along side me.

I can't help but to almost envy him. Trained as a sniper unit as I did, he bore the equipment of one; dark jungle camouflage, munitions belt across his back, enhanced optics, and long-term supplies and rations gear. His stature was that of all others, but his demeanor set him aside. As strong of a believer as any in the ways of the Helghast, he was always an optimist, as well as playful instigator. Off field, he would challenge authority, set harmless traps, and always made himself known when placed in a new unit. He was the type to either be loved or hated, and that made set him apart from everyone else.

Maybe that's why we get along so well.

My body finally becomes a bit restless, signaling the will to move. Unfolding my legs and reaching out my hands, I stretch my stiffened limbs. My legs spread outward to opposite sides as I lean forward, hands clawing the ground as blood circulates, reaching into a gymnasts split. With a deep breath, I press hard into the ground and lift my curved body upward, letting my separated legs slowly rise to a perfect handstand. Proud of my grace, I let one leg lower to the ground, then the other as I straiten into a stand. I turn on a heel, hoping to attract Fricarion's attention.

As my gaze meets his, he quickly looks back down to his rifle, scrubbing his barrel a little faster this time.

"Oh, don't pretend. You were looking, weren't you?"

"Admiring the fact that you're conscious? Yes. Admiring your grace? Maybe. Admiring that fact that you probably have morning breath? No. I'll keep it at that, thank you."

Half flattered, half realizing the unpleasant taste in my mouth, I simply smirk, pull down my dark mesh mask, build up some saliva, and spit near his feet.

"There's your morning breath, you devil."

Without looking up, he shrugs, "Charmed."

I can't help but to sigh; _this man is so unpredictable…_

Then again, it's another trait we share in common… 

Letting myself stretch once more, I reach for a band behind my head and release my true pride; a meter's length of crimson hair. Running my hands through it, I tug at a knot or two, doing my best to straiten it from my slumber, then bind it again in a dark, metal clasp.

As one of the few, perhaps only, female Helgan soldier, I have led a very difficult lifestyle. In an empire like that of my Helgan homeland, the concept of a woman was rare, and almost discouraged. Merely seen as prizes, where soldiers on leave would spend a day or two in the breeding facilities, or trophies of those in the higher class. The price of a warrior nation meant most women would become impregnated, fed accelerated birthing chemicals, and handed their son, statistically 90 of them, to adolescent academies, then wait for the next man to rape them.

I, on the other had, am lucky. My mother died at childbirth, her weak, human frame passing in agony. My father, a proud, respected, and powerful man, was the first to hold me in his arms, vowing to make my life a worthy one.

And incase one was wondering, yes, I too am a half-breed, yet no, that does not relate, or even parallel to the traitor of our army. My father's sympathy for humans ended with her life, along with the Exodus of our race. I have been raised as a Helgan, and a Helgan only. I only thank my birth parent for my hair, and that's as far as it goes.

Slightly agitated, slightly bored, I lean my body forward across cool boulder, my gaze towards the mountain. This new suit they had made for me had extra padding across various pressure points along my body, so laying face down was rather comfortable; not to mention the fact that C-cups provided a bit more comfort, another trait I had inherited from my late mother. Feeling the need to further taunt my comrade, I make sure that when I turn toward, my chest hangs accordingly in Fricarion's direction.

He continues to scrub, glances my way, lowers his gaze slightly, then once again to the rifle, "Is there a point you're trying to make, or are you just taking advantage of my natural weaknesses, Jei?"

"Exploiting the weakness of any man is my strength. That's how I've gotten this far in this army."

"I suppose so, yes… yet were has that gotten us now? Our squad is probably halfway up this mountain thanks to your eagerness."

Surprised at his accusation, I retaliate, "First off, its not my fault that sniper headsets are only built with receivers and not transceivers, and second, how was I supposed to know the bridge was to collapse. Be lucky our squad was sent backwards, and not in the middle of the ravine like the others." I shift my weight back, "It's not like you to try to blame me for our problems… what's wrong with you?"

"I… I don't know… maybe…" he goes to rub the left side of his head, readjusting his goggles. As his hand returns to his side, I notice an abnormality to the shape of his helm; one side seems angled a bit differently.

"Fric…"

"Jei, you're a lovely person, but please, what have I told you about that name…"

"No, Fricarion… you're helm. Something's wrong…" As I try to inspect at a better angle, he turns himself away from me.

"Oh, there's nothing wrong with it. Manufacturing flaw at best…"

"No, hold still, will you?"

Along the left side of his helm, a deep gash ran across it. The composite plastics had been shred away, a seven-centimeter slice running parallel with the dome of his head.

"You're wounded!"

Brushing away my advancing hand, Fricarion slides the bolt into his weapon, setting the firing spring and closing the chamber, "It's nothing! Only a flesh wound…"

"You've been hiding that from me this whole time? Oh, come now. Admit you got shot and let me tend to you."

"I said I'll be fine! I've made it this far."

"Fricarion…" I cannot help but to step to him, lowering to a knee and forcing his gaze to mine, "…please."

His face must have turned puzzled, for he stopped struggling and stared. "Please? Since when?"

"Ever since head wounds became lethal. Now, stop being such a stubborn male and remove your helm. Let me see how bad it is."

"Fine…"

As he pulls his goggle strap back and down, I pull at his chinstrap, grip the helm by the sides, and ever so slowly pull up. I hear him hiss under his mask as I pull, a slight resistance felt as his bloodied, healing skin and debris peels away from his skull.

"I'm sorry, Fric… there's a lot of scabbing…"

In a wincing voice, "That's half the reason why I wanted to leave it there…"

Pulling the helmet free, I place it in his lap, remove a small first aid kit from my waist, and inspect his wound. The graze isn't as long as I had thought, but a rather deep gash curves neatly over the curve of his ear, the skin a few millimeters apart, a few threads of carbon fibers stuck inside.

"Here… let me remove this trash in your skull, disinfect it, and stitch it up. Think you could hold still long enough?"

"Why, sure! Mind lending me a few strands of hair while you're at it? This breeze is numbing my scalp."

"I would never! Besides, the cold will dull the pain. Now stay still…"

A suppressed, faint motherly feeling enters me as I begin to methodically tend to Fricarion, his head shifting and leaning back to get comfortable.

_He's lucky that I'm tending to him… any other Helgan Corpsman would have told him to suck it up and left it to fester… _

Time seems to blur as I proceed, picking away at strands and fragments of plastic with tweezers, applying anti-inflammatory cream inside the gap, and gently sewing the gash together with needle and surgical thread. As I finish, my mind awakens from the trance-like procedure, curious as to the wound's origin.

"Do you happen to remember how this happened, Fric?"

"I think… it might have been before the bridge incident…"

Skeptical, I reply, "Before, or during? Unless you picked a fight with 'Herbert' and lost, I wager you were shot during the encounter with that ISA rodent under the bridge. Correct?"

Caught in his attempt to lie, I hear him sigh, "Perhaps, yes. I believe she nicked me just after we had gotten down to the bridge's base. I had just knelt down for a shot, when…. Well, I can't really say what happened then…"

"Why not?"

He shrugs, "… I cannot remember. It's… a bit of a blur now. I think I might have gotten a bit of a concussion."

I pause in sympathy, then explain, "When I reached the bottom with the rest of Squad C, I looked for a good crevasse to nestle in. The moment I laid down, I heard a thump, followed by liquids spilling. Degauss, who was standing directly behind me, fell over with a hole in his chest. Five seconds and 2 bodies later, I finally had the ISA assassin in my sights, but it was a quick one. For every shot I seemed to try to take, it would leap to another girder, and hide. All of the meshing metalwork proved to be a challenge to shoot though, and my angle was bad. It knew what it was doing, too, for it would take pop shots from a different spot, never developing a pattern. I got frustrated and fired a few rounds rather wildly, hoping I could use the steel against it and get a shot to ricochet. Then…"

"The explosion?" Fricarion adds, "That much I do remember, those four explosions that made the road begin to crumble."

Tying a knot through the last stitch, I agree, "Yes, I had noticed the shaped charges set as I was firing blindly, but I suppose I was too focused on the assassin. By the time noticed those red lights flickering, my scope was filled with a brilliant flash. I had to look away, but when I reopened my eyes, the bridge had shifted, crackled, and finally fell away into the ravine below."

Gingerly touching his head, Fric runs a gloved set of fingers over the freshly mended wound, then slowly sets his helm back on, "That was indeed a sad sight, seeing our men and armor fall away like that. I only think one of them was spared from the bridge; I saw two men holding onto the fissure's ledge, but only one was pulled from it…"

Placing the tools into its respective spaces, I slip the med kit away and slouch down to Fricarion's side, "I hadn't seen it… I was too busy trying to find the ISA rat through the smoke as it finally reached the ground. Apparently, it had thought that the bridge would be enough of a distraction, but as it fled I managed to make finally contact with its left arm."

"Oh? So you did hit it?"

"Actually, it was then that I noticed that 'it' was a 'her'."

Tightening his chinstrap, he turns to me, "You don't say?"

I nod, in awe as well, "When I zoomed in to confirm the hit, the bitch had fell and turned to her back, with two measly mounds bulging over her chest straps."

"Did you manage to finish her off?

Reaching for my rifle and holding it close, I continue half-heartedly, "Well, when I had just the right shot, I pulled the trigger, but was only awarded with the click of an empty magazine. I had her, perfectly! Yet, I had wasted five rounds betting on my ricochet tricks to work. By the time I had reloaded and her in my sights, the assassin had run up a sand dune and shot down on her way over. Another Helghast perhaps…"

"Yes… perhaps…"

We sit there for a moment in silence, my mind seeming to numb, along with the brow of my exposed forehead. An uncomfortably cool breeze wafts by, sending a few flakes of pinpricking snowflakes, teasing my skin and hair, reminding me of this double-edged sword of this suit they call an 'Anti-Femme Under Armor System'. It's both a complement and a mockery to myself, my gender.

When my father influenced some higher-class Helgan officials to allow me to enlist and train, he also suggested that my body would be of novel use towards Research and Development. The both of us new that I would not allow any man to disrespect me without proper consequences, and at the very least, would be a good excuse for R&D to tinker with new ideas, considering our 'flawless' army needed no 'further improvement'. As much as the male swine wanted to ignore my abilities, even presence, my father's undeniable loyalty to Scolar Visari and monetary influence granted our wishes for my placement as a soldier. Hence, as I was trained in my specialty, modifications were made to the Helgan Shock Trooper uniform, and this suit I wear now was formed.

And its forming accented every curve, every shape, and every opportunity to point out that I was indeed a woman. Evidently, those so called scientists and field researchers must have been influenced by the dirty magazines hidden under their beds, and made my suit a cross between a sniper's uniform, padded, camouflaged, highly functional, and a playboy bunny, tight as a glove, all the stitching leading to either three of my most forbidden areas, and even a bit of a heel in my boots. My harness straps wrap around the shoulders, crisscross around my bosoms, down into one and connecting to my waist, then wind around my thighs to more straps around my knees; a lacework of nylon twisting and encircling my body.

Another detail of this suit, or lack there of, concerns my neckline and above; even though I am granted with Helgan goggles, I have no helm, exposing all meters worth of my hair. As for my vanity, I appreciate my opportunity to flaunt my pride amongst the sea of ping pong balls making up our army, yet tactically, it makes my survivability percentage drop dramatically. I've always wondered whether those R&D blokes wanted my hair to flow with the rest of my lovely curves, or wither it was a ploy from the chauvinist chain of command hierarchy to prematurely discharge me, and bring my corpse back to my father with scorn.

But with this flaw came a very clever innovation. As I was tested upon, it was noted that I had no problems breathing the air from my world, but as well as from oxygen rich planets as well. This discovery meant that because of my partly human breed, and a good portion of my life spent on orbital suites with my father, I didn't need the horribly bulky and ugly atmospheric masks every other grunt had to wear. Instead, two stiffened, S-shaped coiled hoses with nozzled heads stand parallel with my cheeks, narrowing to a single cord, snaking its way down to a Helgan regulator tank on the small of my back. It's a much lighter, more convenient way to stay comfortable, and if ever the Earth-like air wasn't sufficient, I only needed to turn up the pressure on the regulator and take a deep breath.

And as way to try to waken up, I did just that, pressing a slide button within the regulator pouch and breathing deeply. It's a welcome, familiar scent, that sandy, almost cinnamon spicy aroma of Helgan. As I breathe, I can feel my sinuses and throat flare open; the air calms my mind further, yet awakens my limbs; like sparks igniting a flame and urging my body to rise. Stretching towards the wispy sky, I rise and sling my rifle over shoulder.

"Alright, Fricarion, about time we move, corre…?" The spot where he had rested was now empty, "What the hell?"

A distant voice calls, "Ah, so you've finally quit your daydreaming have you?"

My eyes follow the echo my ears detected, locating him some 15 meters above, his glowing eyes peeking over a ledge, "How'd you get up there so fast!"

"Simple! I climbed!" His voice dripping in matter-of-factness, "Now come on, Lass. With any luck, we'll finally catch up with the rest of our unit. Lets hope our first contact with them is friendly!"

"That man…" smiling, half in humility and half in admiration, I secure my weapon, find a handhold, and begin my assent, "…is the oddest man in this whole army. Thank the gods for that…


End file.
